The Ballad of Me and My Friends
by I'm A Cuckoo
Summary: Priorities change. [A series of conversations between Remus and his friends.]


_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise is property of JK Rowling._ _The title is taken from, and the story is inspired by _The Ballad of Me and My Friends_ by Frank Turner._ _No infringement intended._

**The Ballad of Me and My Friends**

First year, September 1970

'Do you just wish you could fast-forward and see if the Sorting Hat got it right?'

'Well, Sirius says his whole family was in Slytherin and he's not, is he? So maybe the Sorting Hat does know something about who we'll grow up to be.'

'I'm just aiming not to be a git, mate.'

I snickered at the overheard conversation.

The first boy turned around from where he was leaning against a bed post and grinned at me as I shut the door quietly.

'Oh, hello,' he said politely. 'I'm James. This is Sirius and Peter.' The two boys nodded from their beds.

I headed over to the last bed in the corner and sat down.

'I'm Remus.'

'Looks like we'll be spending a lot of time together, doesn't it?'

* * *

Second year, March 1972

'Do you ever wish someone else had been bitten?'

I blanched. He couldn't have asked me that.

'You can't ask me that.'

'It's just me, Remus,' James smiled. 'I know I'd wish it. I know I'd always wonder what if.'

I pulled the Charms textbook towards me and buried my head in its pages.

James was still for a little while longer, and then his quill started scratching its way across the parchment again. He looked over my shoulder to check a fact, took a swig of his pumpkin juice and carried on writing.

'I wish it every day.'

He sighed quietly, then poked my side and went back to his essay.

* * *

Third year, April 1974

'Do you ever wish for infamy?'

Sirius snorted. 'Infamy?'

'Yeah. I mean, everyone just _knowing_ who you are.'

'Why couldn't you be famous then?'

Peter shook his head before I'd finished asking the question.

'Infamy implies danger, doesn't it?'

'It implies a certain amount of idiocy,' James chipped in.

'And _that's _putting it lightly,' Sirius laughed.

We fell quiet and kept flicking pages and waving our wands, our determination to get this just right uniting us.

After another hour of practising, Sirius closed his book and rubbed his eyes.

'Well, Peter,' he said, 'If we pull this prank off, I reckon you could achieve your infamy.'

Peter's eyes lit up and we fell about laughing.

* * *

Fourth year, February 1975

'Do you ever wish there was a short cut?' James panted as he shook his leg, having finally lost his hoof.

'You could just bye-pass this route entirely,' I told him nervously. Nervous that he'd agree. Nervous that he'd disagree.

'Don't be all self-sacrificing now!' Sirius put in excitedly. 'We're finally getting somewhere! Did you see that?!'

'I bloody felt it,' James complained. He flexed his toes experimentally, and rubbed the ball of his foot tenderly.

'You had a hoof, James! A sodding hoof!'

'I know, Sirius. And if I get it back, you'll have a hoof print on your face.'

Sirius laughed.

And then we laughed, too.

* * *

Fifth year, June 1976

'Do you ever just wish you could get it over with?'

'Padfoot, you're about ten steps in front of us anyway,' Wormtail said grumpily.

Padfoot watched a group of girls wander past him, the wind catching their skirts and flashing a tantalising strip of skin. They shrieked and caught their skirts and he flopped down onto the grass.

'I would trade everything I owned to get laid.'

'I'd settle for a kiss right now,' Wormtail grumbled.

'What about you, Prongs?'

'Hmm?' Prongs' head was tracking the movements of Lily Evans as she moved through the crowds of sunbathing students to reach the shade of the trees near the lake. 'Yeah, I know, mate,' he said absent mindedly.

'You'd probably get somewhere quicker if you looked elsewhere, mate,' Padfoot laughed as he chucked his bag at Prongs' head.

'Dickhead!' he said, transfiguring the bag so it grew legs and ran towards a group of seventh year Ravenclaws.

'Moony, you must want some action.'

I scratched my head and tried to hide my discomfort. 'Let's just make it through fifth year, eh?'

* * *

Sixth year, April 1977

'Do you ever wish you could just sack it off and start fighting?'

'I was under the impression that you'd done just that.'

Padfoot hissed through his teeth as I cleaned the jagged cut behind his ear.

'No-one likes a know-it-all, Moony.'

'I don't particularly like playing nurse.'

'You love it, you saucy mare.'

Wormtail burst through the door. He was panting fiercely and clutching a stitch in his side. Perhaps he could see through his scrunched up eyelids, or maybe it was just a testament to Padfoot's predictability, but he held up one finger to delay the onslaught of questions.

'Got away with it,' he grunted after another minute.

'Then where's Prongs?'

'Still cleaning up the blood.'

'Ah,' Padfoot grinned affectionately. 'So thorough.'

Wormtail vanished the bloody tissues on the floor and cast a quick _Reparo_ on the Padfoot's robes.

'You're more trouble than you're worth, you know.'

Padfoot sighed and looked up at him. 'I know.'

The door opened and a groan echoed in the room. Prongs appeared from under his Cloak and he tossed it into his trunk.

'You're a fucking nightmare, Padfoot.'

'Yeah, I've heard.'

'What happened to keeping your cool and taking the high road and leaving with your dignity?'

'It fell to shit, Prongs.'

We laughed. Prongs ruffled his hair and dropped down onto Wormtail's bed.

'Well, Wormtail caused a pretty good distraction and I got all the blood, so there shouldn't be an owl winging its way to your mum anyway.'

'Small mercies, eh?'

'I have a question,' I interrupted as I inspected Padfoot's cut before letting his hair fall back into place.

'Ask away, Moony, old pal.'

'Why the hell didn't you use your wand?'

Prongs snorted and Padfoot glared at him.

'Why didn't you use your wand, Padfoot?'

Padfoot advanced on Prongs, rubbing his hair viciously until he laughed and held his hands up in surrender.

'Remind me not to get drunk with you again, traitor.'

'It's not my fault you're so fucking _chatty_, is it? Believe me, Pad – I could live quite happily without knowing half the stuff you reveal on the other side of the bottle of Firewhiskey.'

Wormtail chucked at Chocolate Frog at each of us and then turned to Padfoot expectantly.

'Slughorn nearly _stood_ on me. I demand retribution.'

Padfoot sighed and pushed Prongs aside to sit next to him.

'I wanted to fight in the way that would piss Reg off the most. Fist fights, they're so...' His hand waved through the air and hit upon the word, '...muggle.'

'Who knew he'd got that lovely, heavy watch for his birthday, eh?'

Padfoot touched his cut gingerly. 'Fuck off, Moony, yeah?'

Prongs dug a bottle out from under his bed, took a swig and passed it on. We kept quiet and waited. It was just a matter of waiting with Padfoot.

Finally: 'I just wish he'd figure it out, that's all.'

'There's still time,' Prongs mumbled half-heartedly.

* * *

Seventh year, December 1977

'Do you ever wish you could speak girl?'

'She'll come round,' I said bracingly.

Prongs' laugh was too bitter and it jarred. He was supposed to be the optimist.

'She will. She's just being...'

'Pro-active?'

'Well. Yeah.'

We snorted. He sighed.

'Can a seventeen year old get away with hiding in his bedroom?'

I sighed this time. 'Want me to run interference?'

'Nah. That's meant to be Padfoot's job. Oh,' he broke off as the door creaked open. 'Speak of the devil.'

'And he shall appear indeed!' Padfoot ruffled Prongs' hair affectionately. 'She's covering a detention for the next two hours.'

'Is this what adulthood will be like?' Prongs asked. 'Hiding from women who don't listen to a word you say?'

'Christ, I hope not.'

Prongs ignored Padfoot's attempt at flippancy, and I felt somewhat pleased.

'It's just,' he groaned. 'Nothing's like we thought it would be, is it?'

'Tell me about it,' Wormtail chimed in as he arrived from the Common Room. He dropped a copy of Prophet on the floor. We didn't even have to crane our necks to see the headline and the picture of a rotating Dark Mark.

'There's just so many more things going on in the world that are bigger than me and Lily,' Prongs said, kicking the newspaper closer to Padfoot. 'But I wish I could have it more than anything sometimes, and it's scary how selfish that is.'

'Fuck, Prongs. That's a bit deep for a Tuesday evening.'

* * *

August, 1978

'Do you ever wish you'd never caught on?'

Prongs' voice was low. He clearly thought I was sleeping.

'Never,' Padfoot's voice was strong. He clearly didn't give a damn.

'Even when you're fighting your family? Even when your family lands you in St Mungos?'

'Especially then.'

They fell silent.

'Sometimes I wish Lily wasn't a witch. Only for a second,' Prongs rushed on, and I wasn't sure whether he was justifying himself, or appalled with what he just gave voice to. 'I just wish she was safer.'

'That's the whole point,' Padfoot replied. 'How could I wish I were still a part of family when I know I would have fought alongside them? And I know I would have fought alongside them.' He had obviously reached that realisation so long ago that the disgust had left his voice and he could state as an emotionless fact. 'And if turning my back on them means giving a chance to you and Lily, then it's a pretty small price to pay.

'You would have loved them instead.'

'That's why _what ifs_ are bad for your health, James.'

* * *

May 1979

'Do you ever wish we could go back to second year?'

'When our biggest problem was how to use my Cloak as often as possible,' Prongs sighed wistfully.

'Speak for yourself,' I snorted.

'So self-involved,' Padfoot admonished as he punched my shoulder.

'It's a bad habit of mine,' I replied mournfully.

We laughed.

'If you're going to prat about at the back, you can leave,' Moody threatened as he looked over at us.

'Sorry, Moody,' Padfoot said in that tone that had always soothed McGonagall. It didn't have quite the same effect on Moody.

'Try apologising to a Death Eater and see how far it takes you,' he barked. 'Pay attention! You'll miss something important!'

'Constant vigilance!' Prongs whispered half a beat before Moody and I chewed the inside of my cheek to keep a straight face.

* * *

March 1980

'Do you ever wish she wasn't so Lily-ish?' I asked, my eyes on her swollen abdomen.

'Every fucking day, Moony. Every fucking day.'

Padfoot sauntered over with a bottle. He poured out the shots and we grasped them.

'To the Prewetts,' he murmured.

'To the Prewetts,' we repeated and as one, we sank our shots.

One by one, our eyes moved back to Lily.

'Isn't she going to take a back seat?'

'She reckons she has,' Prongs said in a resigned tone. 'She won't fight again. But she's adamant that she's staying involved.' He ruffled his hair angrily. 'And I want her to stay involved. He grabbed the bottle and took a swig. 'Fuck's sake,' he hissed.

'Maybe she'll change her mind, once the baby's here,' Padfoot said sensibly.

Prongs just looked at him.

'It took her six and a half years to change her mind last time.'

'Oh, yeah.'

* * *

November 1980

'Do you ever wish...' Padfoot's voice trailed off.

'Never.' Prongs' reply is firm. No room for argument.

I moved away from the doorway, then came back, making as much noise as I could as I walked down the hall. When I pushed open the kitchen door, they looked around with a smile and I tried my best to smile back.

It didn't take me a long time to understand that conversation. It took me a long time to understand my reaction to that conversation.

* * *

New Years' Eve 1981

_What ifs_ really are bad for your health.

* * *

First year, July 1981

'Do you ever wish you could fast-forward and see how your life will pan out?' Peter asked as he watched the castle disappear behind the mountains.

'Why would I want to do that?' James laughed.

'Don't you want to know how we'll get there?' Sirius asked. He and James always seemed to think the same.

I smiled at the three of them and chucked them each a Chocolate Frog, happy for once to just live in the moment

* * *

_This was a bit of an experiment of style. It might have fallen flat on its arse. Let me know what you thought of it!_


End file.
